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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207238">Between History and Philosophy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/synvamp/pseuds/synvamp'>synvamp</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Getting to know you, M/M, Ozbleckweek2020, academics in love, ozbleck has totally snuck up on me what am I even doing, they're so cute tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:46:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/synvamp/pseuds/synvamp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is a blessing and a curse. Time to reflect. Time to learn. Time to ponder what went wrong. But someone who understands the weight of years? Someone who still burns bright with the passion to save that which can be saved? Someone who strives to be better, just because it would be anathema for them to stop? Well, that would be a blessing indeed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bartholomew Oobleck/Ozpin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Between History and Philosophy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---xxx---</p><p> </p><p>In the dark and dusty shelves, deep in the heart of the reference section, there was a little nook. A place in between. In between histories. In between philosophies. In between Pa and Ph, Natural Science. A little world of peace and quiet, where the only sounds to grace the ear were the occasional squeak of a trolley wheel and the dry rain of pages turning.</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent, Professor Ozpin. I had hoped to find you here.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Oz put one finger on the weighty tome on his lap to hold his place and looked up. Pale blue eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses vibrated in front of him. A shock of green and a flash of yellow completed a familiar refrain.</p><p> </p><p>“I do tend to frequent the library often,” the Professor mused, trying not to smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Wednesdays, Thursday afternoon, Sunday evening. Sometimes Monday but only when it rains. But never mind that! I wanted to ask you a question. Is now a good time for this to occur?”</p><p> </p><p>Oz tilted his head and took in the man standing in front of him. He rippled with enthusiasm. It wasn’t just the caffeine, either.</p><p> </p><p>He had known Call-Me-Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck for four months. At first he’d seemed mildly amusing. Bouncy, slightly brusque but admittedly an expert in his field. A man to respect for his competency but perhaps not much more.</p><p> </p><p>Oz clearly remembered the first moment he’d become interested in this puzzle of a man. He was in the little kitchen, way up on the fourth floor… making himself a hot chocolate in the early hours of the morning. Oobleck had bounced in the door and began to concoct the most toxic caffeinated brew that Oz had ever seen. Just the fumes were enough to give him a shivering little thrill which danced all the way from the back of his neck to the tips of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p><em>Why don’t you get some rest?</em> He had asked, <em>You can always come back in the morning</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor had turned and looked at him, as if he had appeared out of nowhere. “Of course I’ll come back in the morning. But what is a fighter without their weapon? And my weapon is knowledge and we can only fight with the steel we have and when the time comes, my steel will be sharp! You,” and then he fixed those blue eyes on him, those cutting blue eyes, “<em>You</em> would understand.”</p><p> </p><p>And he did.</p><p> </p><p>He did <em>all too well.</em></p><p> </p><p>And then it seemed to be a little pattern. They would bump into each other in the hall, in the lounge, as their paths crossed while teaching… Oz would be his usual, mild and detached self and the doctor would flap, flounder, drop three<em> exquisite</em> words of insight and disappear.</p><p> </p><p>It was… intriguing.</p><p> </p><p>And then three words became five, then ten. A hurried glance became moments of blazing eye contact where he felt he was being assessed. Tested. Like every little breath was a hypothesis which would determine the methodology for the next experiment. And then Oobleck started to ask questions, little <em>trenches </em>of questions.</p><p> </p><p>The first was whether he would be permitted to ask questions. That was something in itself.</p><p> </p><p>From there, he probed gently. A few questions about past events to loosen the topsoil, a few more about philosophy to establish the level of the bedrock beneath their feet… and then before he knew it, Oz was making a second and a third cup at two am just to justify an extra fifteen minutes being slowly excavated by those eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Oobleck was so passionate. So driven to give his all, to be ever better. To protect the world that he found so utterly unfathomable and perfectly fascinating. He flared so bright, his fire touched anyone who came close to him with the same passion, the same stunning self-awareness. He had an amazing knack of turning a person in on themselves. Making them see something that was already so much a part of them that they were blind to it.</p><p> </p><p>And Oz knew that he was not immune.</p><p> </p><p>One morning he’d been halfway through a little speech on the difficulties of translation between a culture of observation and a culture of expression when he’d looked up… through the little huffs of cocoa flavoured steam, those eyes transfixed him. And a smile played on those wry lips which was just hovering on the point of adoration.</p><p> </p><p>Then out of the blue the thought struck him that the man was <em>gorgeous</em>. And he’d known it for a long time. But somehow in a split second it became… inescapable.</p><p> </p><p>And so now, in this little book nook. This little hide-away which he’d made for himself; he closed the heavy volume on his lap and put it back on the shelf.</p><p> </p><p>“Ask away,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor crossed and uncrossed his arms, “Yes. Well…”</p><p> </p><p>Oz smiled.</p><p> </p><p>A little grin lit up that enthusiastic, endearing face. “I have been enjoying our time talking immensely and I thought at this juncture it would be appropriate to make my advances in a more conventional fashion. Far be it from me to pursue an affection of a one-sided nature against the wishes of my would-be paramour. Professor,” he paused, pushing his wire rims firmly up his elegant nose for emphasis, “Would you like to commence a relationship of a more intimate nature?”</p><p> </p><p>“In the library? I don’t know if it’s permitted,” Oz said.</p><p> </p><p>Doctor Oobleck blinked at him.</p><p> </p><p>Oz smirked.</p><p> </p><p>The good doctor finally shrugged, “It wasn’t what I had in mind I have to say but I have never been a man to turn down an opportunity when one presents itself.”</p><p> </p><p>Oz chuckled, “I don’t know if you’re joking.”</p><p> </p><p>“If I’m honest I’m not sure either,” the doctor smiled, “Perhaps we could just start with a date in a slightly less public arena and progress from there in a slightly less exhibitionist fashion?”</p><p> </p><p>“Might be wise.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am nothing if not an occasional bearer of self-sabotaging wisdom.”</p><p> </p><p>Oz laughed. <em>And somehow he’s managed to surprise me just one more time.</em></p><p> </p><p>“What did you have in mind, Doctor Oobleck?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you’re a connoisseur of the finer things in life, I myself happen to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of all things pastry and a burning desire to show off. Indulge me.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds… wonderful.”</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent! I’ll meet you here tomorrow at three pm sharp. Don’t be late. And Professor… please…” the blue eyes hovered, giving light to his smile, “call me Barty.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you can call me Oz…”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, I quite like Professor. Rolls off the tongue really, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>And he flashed a grin, as brilliant as it was fleeting, and vanished.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Barty.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It had been a long time.</p><p> </p><p>A long time of talking…</p><p> </p><p>But now, here was a man who he actually wanted to <em>listen to.</em></p><p> </p><p>Someone against whom he could sharpen his steel.</p><p> </p><p>And pastry, it seemed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Excellent indeed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>---xxx---</p>
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